Holmes Prefers Goethe, Watson Prefers Jam
by ragnarok-and-roll-it
Summary: Prompt asked for this: 'First time fic! Watson makes shy!virgin!Holmes orgasm only by using soft touches/licks and whispering naughty things in his ear. I'd love for Watson to make Holmes lose control.' How could I not take full advantage of the situation?
1. Chapter 1

I knew from the very beginning that it would inevitably come to this. Watson is an intensely physical creature. His stunning and innate physicality has earned him lovers on multiple continents. I choose not to remember the exact number, for even though I almost cannot bring myself to touch him, the thought of another pawing at him like a kitten with a ball of unsuspecting string creates an emotional response in me that I would rather not identify...

This response is namely rage tinged with envy. It is irrational anger. He did not even know me then. In fact, we have not even been...in this particular arrangement for a month. All of these dalliances happened years before he had ever even heard my name, or considered moving into Baker Street. This knowledge should, in fact, comfort me as I have gathered, though I must admit I am sorely lacking in empirical data, that such proceedings can be quite painful if your parter is inexperienced and does not know what he is doing. Watson should know exactly what he is doing. This knowledge should hearten me, but I find that I cannot seem to manage to convince myself to be comforted by it.

I wish that the envy were misplaced as well, but it is not. For it seems that despite all of the genius attributed to my person, the one thing that comes most naturally to the rest of humanity completely illudes me. The one thing that men seem to spend most of their time contemplating, fantasizing, joking, speaking, and whispering about I cannot even plainly say. Where most men of my age are fully experienced I am at a complete loss. This passion, which motivates more criminals and can debase even the most unexpected of individuals is entirely foreign to me. I understand how it works and how it effects others, but nothing like what these irrational souls spoke of has ever plagued me.

As a child I was generally disinterested in forming attachments with my contemporaries. They bored me. I preferred the company of books. I am still largely this way. Outside of the crimes they commit or the art they make, the human race as a whole is fantastically overrated and entirely dull. I never saw much worth in most of them. I never sought them out, and I suppose hiding in libraries reading obscure books in languages others don't understand will not really improve your chances of engaging in trysts. Trysts were not necessary in order for me to achieve my goals, so I did not seek them out.

They liked gossip. I preferred Goethe. That did not leave us with much in common. I have only ever been interested in those who shared my interests. In an aesthetic sense I have, of course, found some of them quite beautiful. Some people are. However, someone a beautiful as the Venus de Milo with all of the natural intelligence of the rock from which she is made, will not be admired by me for overlong.

And yet, even the most moronic of them can still easily do what I never could. They can do without a thought what I had never even considered doing until approximately a week ago. I find myself genuinely terrified. What is that man doing to me?


	2. Chapter 2

Do not think ill of Doctor Watson. It is not his fault at all. He did not coerce or trick or force me in anyway. While damnably naive in certain ways I understand the subtleties and vagaries of manipulation. I use this understanding to my advantage often. Watson, having sensed my nervousness and reluctance, is too busy treating me like a piece of fine boned china to have any time to spare playing cruel games. This does not change the fact that I feel as if I am dangling at the edge of a precipice and he is painstakingly digging the heel of his boot onto my grasping fingers one by one.

He only wants to make me happy. He only wants to express his affection in the best way he knows. Or, rather, he will want to soon. He has not even asked me to...to...be more physically intimate with him yet. He has not tried to push me any farther than I am willing to go, which I am ashamed to admit is not very far at all.

But, what terrifies me is that lately I find that the simple contact of our mouths is not enough. Truly, I could kiss him until the end of time. He is very skilled and there are few things that produce such favorable reactions from so deep within me. I was perfectly content with only his kisses, or at least that was what I thought. Only a week ago I was proved wrong. I do not know what came over me!

It had been a typical morning for us. I woke up a short while before my dearest Watson. I was sipping tea in my dressing gown when he tumbled down the stairs in a similar state, looking for all the world like he had been through a terrible storm. His hair stuck up in nine directions and his dressing gown was on backwards. The man is not a morning person. I chuckled silently into my teacup as he collapsed on his chair and grunted something that may or may not have been English in my general direction.

"Good morning to you too." I said with a smile and he ignored me before starting to devour the eggs and toast that Mrs. Hudson had prepared. I turned my eyes back toward the top of the table. The sounds of his voracious eating almost drowned out the traffic on the street. I was listening to two men having a heated argument over a bet they had made when suddenly the feeling that I was being watched became so strong that I looked up.

Watson was staring at me. He had a bit of egg stuck in his mustache and the most ridiculous and wonderful grin nearly split his face in two beneath it. I was still holding my teacup. I raised an eyebrow at him. He just smiled at me and started putting jam on a piece of toast. I went back to listening to the sounds of the street. The next thing I knew there was a piece of toast smothered with strawberry jam floating right under my nose.

"You should really eat something, old boy." He said and he still had that same grin. I took the toast from his hand and started to nibble at it. He looked disappointed but said nothing. I do not his displeasure, and so when I had nibbled through about half of my toast I got up and walked to his side of the table.

"Holmes?" He questioned and I picked up his napkin before plucking out the piece of egg with it. I showed him the egg and he blushed faintly. He gets food stuck in mustache several mornings a week. That, however, was the first time I didn't mock him for it.

His red cheeks made something warm and light start to form in the pit of my stomach, and so I leaned down and kissed him lightly on the left one. His morning stubble scraped against my lips and they tingled pleasantly. I kissed his cheek again.

He started to chuckle and I stopped. There was no heat behind my glare whatsoever and he chuckled some more. It was such pleasant sound.

He started stroking my cheek and I leaned into his touch.

"Holmes?" He began and I opened my eyes, which I had not even realized had drifted closed. "May I kiss you?"

I nodded. He beamed before pressing his lips gently to mine.

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Lua j: Thanks man!


	3. Chapter 3

It had started out soft and languorous. His lips barely met mine. He was peppering kisses along my cheeks and my brow when I became impatient, held his face in my hands, and then pressed our lips together once more. I wanted to feel him. I wanted to taste him. I carded my fingers through his hair; he had confessed this to be something of a weakness of his. I started at the nape of his neck and scraped my nails up to his hairline. He groaned and started to ply my lips apart with his tongue.

My inability to correctly recall the exact series of events should quite do the job of explaining my mental state. It should more than make clear exactly what that man does to me. He sucked my bottom lip into his mouth and bit down and I felt my knees buckle. I knew that all it would take was one more kiss to send me crumpling to the floor.

The next thing I knew I was straddling his lap. His hands were beneath my dressing gown, and his wonderful mouth was latched onto my collar bone, biting and sucking and marking me. My nightshift was gathered up about my hips and my legs were spread wide. It seemed he couldn't decide whether to run his hands along my chest and stomach or caress my thighs. I was holding onto him for dear life as I trembled in his arms. Wherever his lips touched me and his mustache brushed against my skin it burned.

I started shifting on his lap, delicious friction making me wholly forget my own shame. I was grinding in his lap and making all manner of undignified noises. The chair was creaking as I rocked back and forth. You cannot blame me for forgetting myself. He was holding me so tightly and he was so close and he was nipping at my ears and my lips and...

That was when I felt it for the first time. His own...arousal. It seemed to be thickening beneath me as if It had a will of its own. I had read enough to know how these things work and where he would want to put It. I realized that he would want to take all of my clothes off. That I would have to be naked and alone with It. I probably paled. It felt absolutely huge.

I dove off of his lap, scrambled to my bedroom, and have hardly seen him since; Or, to put it more truthfully, I have gone to tremendous pains to avoid him for the past week. I have taken on several uninteresting cases involving missing poodles and things of that nature, which are hardly worth mentioning, just to avoid being in Baker Street. Of course Mrs. Hudson noticed our fallout and has tried, in her own unique way, to be helpful (and by that I mean she has been under my feet even more so than usual).

Just because I am clever enough to avoid the doctor at all costs, does not mean that I am unaware of how much this is bothering him. He has written me several hurt and bewildered notes. I do not know how to respond to them. He asks me what is going on in my head, and I don't know how to answer him. I will go to him soon and explain, even though I don't want to and I don't know what to say.

I miss him.

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chacra: Thanks so much, man! Also: Je parle un peu français! Votre anglais est très bien, mais si vous voulez répondre au français, je vais vous comprenez. :)


	4. Chapter 4

Whenever I decide to do something, I do it remarkably well. While generally this is a good thing, sometimes it proves to be acutely bothersome. When I had, had it in my head that I would simply avoid the doctor until the end of time, I told you I had agreed to take on a number of trivial cases. The majority of these were for the spoiled nobility, who enjoyed the idea of the dashing and famous Sherlock Holmes more than they were actually in dire need of my services. However, they paid heavily for the right to boast to their equally insipid contemporaries. Another week came, and by the time that week was halfway through I was richer than the Queen herself.

On Friday morning I wrote Watson a brief note asking him to be home at seven o'clock. I told him that I would explain everything and that I would apologize. I told him that it wasn't his fault. I also sent Mrs. Hudson away. I didn't want her there when he rejected my apology and stalked out of the house.

That night, as we sat in our respective armchairs, each with a glass of brandy in hand, and the fire crackling merrily I found that the words would not come.

Watson stared at me expectantly. He looked absolutely miserable and I could tell that he had not been sleeping well. I had hurt him badly and I knew that he would be angry very soon if I didn't speak up. I knew that he had been torturing himself trying to figure out what he had done to offend me for nearly two weeks.

"Watson, my dear," I began and he looked at me out of the corner of his eye, his lips taut beneath his full golden mustache. "You know that I am not a very, well...usually; that is, I do not..."

I could hear his footsteps as he came toward me. I continued to splutter in a most undignified fashion. He knelt in front of me and took my hands in his.

"I cannot be what you need." I said eventually and he looked almost offended. "I can't-"

"Holmes-"

"No Watson! You had a new lover in here almost every week for years-"

"Holmes."

"You and It went around the world-"

"Holmes!"

"-and ravaged entire continents together! How on earth can you expect me to-"

"HOLMES."

"How on earth can you expect a virgin to-"

"HOL..." Watson began and then he realized what I had begun to say. His eyes widened. His jaw dropped and he tried to close it but it fell again. He could have caught flies in that thing. I felt wretched. I started to curl in on myself when I felt his hands on my face.

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Thank you all for your kind reviews! :)

chacra: I always have this discussion French speakers. Haha. I want them to speak French and they want me to speak English, so we end up speaking Franglish. C'est comme ça le sera toujours!


	5. Chapter 5

"Is that true Sherlock?" He asked softly and I nodded stiffly. I couldn't even look up at him.

"I don't even know what to do."

When I looked up at Watson he was smiling a truly brilliant smile. His hand was on my cheek and I leaned into his touch. I had missed him. He started to pet me gingerly and I smiled too.

"That's all?" He said. I nodded. Were I a cat I would have been purring. "I thought that you were done with me. You didn't even take me on cases." He looked so dejected. I kissed his thumb as it passed my mouth.

That's when I remembered the feeling of It against me. I looked down sheepishly at my feet.

"And well, there's one other thing." I almost whispered and he looked like a child who had been promised candy only to be given another helping of vegetables. Even his lustrous mustache seemed to wilt.

"I well...you see...It's big."

He cocked his head to the side, obviously confused.

I looked down toward the inseam of his trousers tellingly before directing my gaze back up at his face. "It felt, well, quite large."

He realized my meaning and his eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline.

"And, well, from what I've read, I have come to the conclusion that, and you see, well, it's simple physics! What I am trying to tell you is that-"

He kissed me and I almost forgot what I had been spluttering about. I am generally rather disinclined to believe in magic of any kind, but the doctor has certain abilities that defy the very order of nature. By the time I realized that I had been trying to convey something of the utmost importance, I was sitting on his lap with my thighs spread wide over his legs. My lips were tingling with his kisses and burning from the brush of his mustache.

"Yes, Sherlock?" He smirked as I tried helplessly to catch my breath.

"I don't think something so large will fit in such a tight space." My voice was rough and low. I hardly recognized it. His eyes darkened. I felt It start to stir to life beneath me.

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Suga Bee: You so sweet. :)

chacra: Merci! J'essaie de faire de mon mieux! Je veux la voix de Sherlock être authentique. Lorsque vous souhaitez moi 'bonne chance', je souris. C'est comique, mais je l'aime. Also, I'm not gonna stop you from getting your English practice for my own amusement. I'm just kind of always on the hunt for people to inflict my mediocre French on. It's a problem.

Guest: Do you want to hear a joke for mind readers?

Pinyaaple: AH. YES. IT IS. THANK YOU. THE SECOND I SAW YOUR REVIEW I FIXED IT. ARGH. IT'S JUST SO HARD TO TYPE WHEN YOU'RE A PINEAPPLE. FUCK MY LACK OF FINGERS.

The Writing Dead: You have found my other hunting lodge for rich weirdos! Bienvenidos dahlink!

Mirage Alcedame: Thank you so much!


	6. Chapter 6

I was torn. Half of me wanted to stay with him and see exactly what would happen. The other half was terrified of It. Apparently my nervous shifting was doing nothing for his condition, because he faintly growled before wrapping me in his arms and holding me still.

"There is so much more to it than that." He whispered in my ear and I shivered. I could feel his hands twining in my hair and starting to travel down the back of my neck.

"There is so much that leads up to the eventual act, so much that I can show you." His fingers seemed to be burning through my clothing as his hands trailed down my mid back. "So much that happens before we can even consider ...fucking." His fingers wrapped around the cheeks of my arse. He pulled me closer and I groaned at the friction. I was flush against him. He wrapped my limp arms around him.

"Let me show you." He breathed against my ear and started to lave my ear with his tongue. I wanted him to go down further, but my collar was in the way.

"Let me touch you."

I nodded.

He pulled my cravat free and my first instinct was to tell him to stop, but by the time I started to form the words he had started teasing my neck with his mustache. He brushed it over the skin, sensitizing it and making me shiver. I decided it wasn't all that bad.

Then he started on the buttons of my waistcoat. I tensed.

"Sherlock," He said against my ear and ran the edges of the somewhat coarse hair along my ear. A small sound escaped me before I could stop it.

"No love," He said and lightly tapped my backside with one of his hands. I was starting to wonder if the man had extra hands he kept hidden at all other times. "I want to hear you." I must have given him a questioning look because he elaborated in the most deliciously torturous way.

"I want to hear what I'm doing you. I want to know that you like it and that you love it, so that I can do it again," His hands were on my inner thighs. "And again." He scraped his teeth along my neck. "And again."

My waistcoat fell to the floor and I felt incredibly exposed. As he took to the buttons on my shirt he leaned close to my opposite ear and pulled on the lobe with his teeth.

"Imagine the feel of my wet tongue as I trail kisses along every last bit of your skin."  
He knows I have a very vivid imagination. He knew that I could. As my shirt parted and revealed my chest he kissed and touched every new bit of exposed skin.

"And my teeth marking you." He did so and then he took one of my nipples between his teeth. I arched into him as he lightly licked at the one while circling the very edge of his fingernail lightly around the other. The dual sensations caused me to rock in his lap, bringing our hardnesses together. I gasped.

I suddenly became aware that I was completely and achingly hard. I looked down and could see my bulge straining against the fabric of my pants. I looked up at Watson with wide eyes as one of his hands snaked between us and started to lightly rub against my enclosed member. It wasn't enough. I needed more.

"Would you like me to touch you?" He asked, his other hand still gently tugging on my nipple.

"Hmmmm?"

I whimpered.

"I will never do anything without your permission." His fingers moved from my nipple to brush along my collarbone and I started to rut against his leg. I could hardly even see at this point. My entire universe consisted of his soft voice and his wicked hands.

"Oh god, John. Please!"

He started to touch me through my my trousers. He touched me hard enough that I couldn't help but rub against him and lightly enough that it provided no relief whatsoever.

"We can go as slowly as you like."

I swore I was going to kill him.

"And when you're ready, and not a moment before, I will fuck you into the mattress."

I could hardly breathe. He was palming me gently. It wasn't enough. I wanted to feel his skin.

"And when you are ready, and not a moment before, I will fuck you until you can't remember your own name."

He was so close. I could almost taste his scent in the air. I was whining and bucking like an uncivilized and single-minded thing. I could feel the bulge in his trousers and ground down upon him. He was pulsing beneath me, growing harder by the second. How did he sound so calm?

"My cock will be so deep inside that I'll become a part of you. I'll fill your tight little hole like no one else can, like no one else ever has. Then you'll beg me to do it again. I'll love you and fuck you every night and you'll still beg for it. You'll be mine."

I was grinding against his leg. My nails were digging holes in his waistcoat and my entire body felt as if it was about to snap. I couldn't think and I couldn't see. I could hear almost nothing other than the sound of my heart drumming in my chest and the sound of the fabric of our pants grinding together as I humped him like a bitch in heat.

"I'm ready now!" I chanted over and over again with what little breath I could manage to take in.

He chuckled and it was warm and dark. It vibrated through my body. He took pity on me and, at last, I sprang free from the confines of my trousers. He stopped moving entirely. The last of the blue in his eyes disappeared as he stared openly at my weeping member. He licked his lips and I let out a frustrated groan. I grabbed his hands and pressed them hard against my backside.

"Please," My voice cracked as I pressed my lips against his ear, much like he had done to me. "Touch me."

He grabbed my cock and before he could even stroke I experienced an orgasm so intense that I did not really even process it. There was an agonizingly short eternity of unparalleled bliss during which all things ceased to exist entirely. I felt like my entire body caved in upon itself. Then I, with all of the gracious and tender consideration of a decent lover, abruptly fell unconscious on top of my incredibly aroused companion.

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chacra: I had two midterms today. Sorry. My mind can't french right now. Sleeping dragon indeed. hahahaha. I'm also sorry that my French isn't better. I guess I'm more out of practice than I thought.

Everyone: Thank you so much! And I'm sorry about the wait. I got caught up finishing my other fic, The Age of Frost, which is like this 60,000 word Frostiron monster that consumed my life.


	7. Chapter 7

It had been a typical morning for us. I woke up a short while before my dearest Watson. I was sipping tea in my dressing gown when he tumbled down the stairs in a similar state, looking for all the world like he had been through a terrible storm. His hair stuck up in nine directions and his dressing gown was on backwards. The man is not a morning person. I chuckled silently into my teacup as he collapsed on his chair and grunted something that may or may not have been English in my general direction.

"Good morning to you too." I said with a smile and he ignored me before starting to devour the eggs and toast that Mrs. Hudson had prepared. I turned my eyes back toward the top of the table. The sounds of his voracious eating almost drowned out the traffic on the street. I was listening to the usual Baker Street clatter when I suddenly felt like I was being watched. I looked up.

Watson was staring at me. He had a bit of egg stuck in his mustache and the most ridiculous and wonderful grin nearly split his face in two beneath it. I was still holding my teacup. I raised an eyebrow at him. He just smiled at me and started putting jam on a piece of toast. I went back to listening to the sounds of the street. The next thing I knew there was a piece of toast smothered with strawberry jam floating right under my nose.

"You should really eat something, old boy." He said and he still had that same grin. Without a thought I bit off the a piece of the the toast and it was so swamped with jam that some of it dripped down the side of my face.

"I'll get it!" Watson said happily and walked over to my side of the table. He leaned down next to me and promptly licked it away. Then he attached his lips to my pulse point. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mrs. Hudson standing in the doorway with the bowl of sugar which she had forgotten to bring upstairs with the meal. She didn't seem to be in the least bit surprised.

"He likes jam." I mouthed with a nonchalant shrug and she rolled her eyes as if to say, 'I didn't need to be bloody Sherlock Holmes to see this one coming', before quietly locking the door and taking the bowl of sugar back downstairs with her.

FIN

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Thanks for reading and reviewing! This is the end. This is actually a really old thing I wrote that I'm moving from another place to here for the purposes of organization. I have a whole bunch of old stuff I wrote for the Sherlock/Sherlock Holmes fandom when I did that that I'll slowly be moving to here.

Hope you all had fun. Feel free to hit up my tumblr, my Vampire!Hiddles one shot, or my Glam Rock Frostiron AU if you so desire.

Peace out home skillet biscuits. :)


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